


Die in the Woods

by gay_possum_god



Category: I Want To Go Home! - Gordon Korman
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Beta Read, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sharing A Tent, beaver mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 04:51:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20252488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gay_possum_god/pseuds/gay_possum_god
Summary: Each year, at the beginning of 12th grade, St. Gandeer High sends the entire class on a three-night backpacking trip in the Canadian wilderness. The administration says it’s to build character. Rudy Miller said it’s to stop overpopulation.Instead of summer camp Rudy, Mike and the gang are sent on a school backpacking trip.





	Die in the Woods

## Day 1

Each year, at the beginning of 12th grade, St. Gandeer High sends the entire class on a three-night backpacking trip in the Canadian wilderness. The administration says it’s to build character. Rudy Miller said it’s to stop overpopulation.

During the nearly 4 hour bus trip from their home to the Ontario sea shore, most of the buses were full of teens bustling with excitement or anxiety. There was nervous chatter and rounds of singing. There were snacks being passed and every so often a stop so someone could puke by the side of the road.

None of this had any impact on Rudy, who sat stretched out across the entirety of the back left seat listening to his walkman. Mike shared the back left bench with a boy named Ronald, who had sat behind him for all of geometry, but he had never said more than a sentence to.

When the busses finally pulled to a halt in the middle of a gravel and dirt parking lot near a small dock, Mike was immensely grateful. All 160 17 year-olds piled out of the busses and began clamoring for their baggage. 

At the head of the chaos, Principal Warden, known to Rudy as Principal Bowlegs, cleared his throat. “As you all know, this school was founded 30 years ago by my grandfather, Elias Warden, and one of the many great traditions that he founded right along with it was the Algonkian Island Backpacking Trip. As with any long standing tradition at this school, I expect you all to respect it and participate in it to its fullest extent. I hope you will all approach this experience with open hearts and open minds—”

“And open knees,” Rudy whispered. Mike giggled.

“And embrace this as the growing opportunity it is. Because, the reason for this trip isn’t torture nor is it to give you a picturesque view of the Canadian wildlife—”

“I can already see vast portions of that through his legs,” Rudy muttered. Mike laughed slightly louder this time and several teachers glared at him.

“No. The real reason we send you out here is so that you may gain leadership opportunities and life skills that you make take with you as you carry on beyond the confines of this school. Now, I will pass the details of this over to your Academic Dean, Mr. Greene!”

There was a smattering of applause as Mr. Greene took Mr. Warden’s place at the front of the group of students.

“Before we begin, I need to make an announcement. Algonkian Island is home to about 2000 non-native beavers. They are an invasive species and the Algonkian Island Wilderness Services has been trying to get rid of them, but they still live there. The AIWS’s most recent attempt involved shooting the beavers with birth control darts, but this did not succeed, and only made the beavers angry and honry.”

There was a round of laghter at the word “honry.”

“Beavers have teeth long enough to bite through your limbs,” Mr. Greene continued, and the laughter ceased. “To prevent injury we advise you to never go anywhere on the island alone. Always take a buddy.”

“Don’t get impregnated by a beaver,” Rudy whispered, and Mike giggled.

There was a moment of silence as Mr. Greene looked each of the students in the eye, and stopped to glare at Mike and Rudy, to really drive home his message.

“Alright, on a slightly less serious note, you will be divided up into trail groups of ten to twelve students each. Each trail group will also be accompanied by a St. Grandeer teacher and a AIWS naturalist. Once everyone has been divided up, groups will start crossing to the island one at a time in kayaks. Once you get there, your group can start down your trail. The naturalists know which trail each group is supposed to take. Has everyone got his own bag?”

There was a chorus of “yes”s and one “no.” Being very familiar with Rudy, Mr. Greene ignored the “no.”

“Alrighty then! We’ll get started with trail group one: naturalist Frank, and teacher Mr. Cook. If you hear your name, please go stand by Mr. Cook under that tree.” Frank pointed to a tree near the dock. “Bradford Hall, Ronald Morris, Richard Johnson, Eli Martin, Rufus Lee…”

Rudy and Mike were not in the first group. Nor were they in the second, or third, or fourth or fifth. By the time Frank got to trail group ten Mike had become optimistic.

“Maybe they forgot about us, or they decided that our punishment for the sock incident was not going on the trip?”

Rudy did not share this glass-half-full mindset. “More likely they’d dump us in the woods and make us find our own way back without help. Maybe blindfolded too.”

Finally, Frank got to the last trail group. “Trail Group Thirteen: naturalist Chip, teacher Mr. Pierre, students Melvin Brown, Harold Greene, Mark Hill, Wilber Lee, Simon Jackson, Rudy Miller, Sean Murphy, Raymond Smith, Mike Webster and Sam Wilson. That’s all.”

The members of Trail Group Thirteen slowly picked up their packs and made their way to the tree that Chip and Pierre stood under near the dock.

As they were trudging over, Rudy whispered, “It’s a good thing the other groups left so we can tell our clone apart from the others.”

Mike giggled.

“Is there something you would like to share with the group?” Chip, the clone asked him.

Mike shook his head.

“Good. In that case, we’ll go around and introduce ourselves, then we’ll divide up into tent groups and split the group supplies between our packs.”

“As long as I don’t have to share a tent with Miller,” Harold said. “He’s a nut.”

“Now, now, I’m sure Miller,” Chip said looking around, not actually sure which one Miller was, “is a fine young man. Now would you like to introduce yourself first? How about your name and favorite animal.”

“My name is Harold Greene, and my favorite animal is a dog.”

“A true original,” Rudy whispered under his breath.

Mike snorted, and Chip glared at him, probably assuming he was the Miller Harold had been talking about.

“My name is Melvin Brown, and my favorite animal is a wolf.”

“My name is Mark Hill, and my favorite animal is also a dog.”

“My name is Wilbur Lee, and my favorite animal is a cat.”

“My name is Simon Jackson, and my favorite animal is a hobbit.”

“My name is Sam Wilson, and I don’t have a favorite animal.”

“My name is Sean Murphy, and my favorite animal is a hermit crab.”

“My name is Raymond Smith, and my favorite animal is a unicorn.”

“Gay,” Harold whispered. Everybody ignored him.

“My name is Mike Webster, and my favorite animal is a wolf.”

“My name is Gavin Gunhold, and my favorite animal is a beaver.”

“He’s lying! Miller’s lying! His name is Rudy Miller!” Harold shouted, pointing an accusing finger.

Chip’s glued on grin didn’t falter as he turned back to Rudy. “As fun as it is to make up names, Rudy, I do need to know your real name for safety reasons.”

Rudy shrugged.

“Well then,” Chip said, “does anybody have a preference for tent partners?”

“I refuse to share a tent will Miller! He’s a nut.”

“Does anyone have a tent-mate preference other than Greene?”

“I’ll tent with Mike,” Rudy said.

“I can tent with Mark, I guess,” Melvin said after a moment.

Then Sean paired up with Raymond, Sam with wilbur and Simon with Harold and that was that.

“Now,” Chip said, “we have to divide up the group supplies. Everyone will need to put some food or cooking apparatus into their bags. Try to divide it up evenly.”

Chip poured a sack’s worth of supplies onto the tarp. Rudy took a pot and camping stove. Mike took the jug of Kool-Aid. Rudy raised an eyebrow at this, but said nothing.

“Now,” Chip instructed, “While we wait for Trail Group 12 to make it to their trail head, we’ll practice kayaking here on land. Everyone please get with their tent-mate and decide who’s going to be sitting in front and who’s going to be sitting in the back. The person sitting in the back should be the person with more upper-body strength.”

Rudy stepped in front of Mike. Mike groaned.

“Rudy!”

Chip came over. “Is there an issue, boys?”

“I don’t have upper-body strength,” Mike said resentfully.

“I don’t kayak,” Rudy said.

“Don’t worry, Miller, it’s easy. You just hold the paddle like this,” Chip put a paddle in Rudy’s hands and adjusted it to the right angle. “And then you bring put it in the water on your right side and pull it back. Then you pull it out of the water.” Chip was doing exaggerated paddling motions at Rudy, who was standing there holding the paddle with a blank expression. “Then you put it in the water on your left side, and you pull it back. Then you take it out of the water. Then you put it in the water on your right side, and you pull it back.”

Before Chip could continue his paddling demonstration, Mr. Warden blew his whistle, signalling that it was time for Trail group 13 to begin kayaking to the island.

“Alright, Miller,” Chip said, giving Rudy a heart slap on the back, “why don’t you sit in the back and give those rowing skills a test?”

All the pairs sat in their kayaks and began paddling towards Algonkian Island. At first all the boats were roughly evenly spaced in a line, but soon Mike and Rudy’s kayak began to pull ahead. None of the other kayakers could match Rudy’s perfect form and upper-body strength, though Chip and Mr. Pierre made a good effort.

“That’s great, Miller! Pull that paddle back!” Chip shouted, ecstatic that his instruction had been so great that Rudy had immediately been better than him. Chip could almost see his future as a crew coach shining in the future as he tried desperately to keep up with Mike and Rudy who were disappearing off toward the island.

By the time the rest of the Trail Group 13 kayaks pulled up the the Algonkian Island Shores, Mike and Rudy had already been waiting for a good 15 minutes.

“Finally,” said Mike, standing up from where he’d been sitting in a shady patch. He brushed off his shorts and legs and realized everyone was staring at him. “What? I was just sitting while we waited.” Mike took a step forward and the rest of Trail Group 13 took a step back.

“Webster,” Chip said slowly, “do you recognize what you were sitting in?”

Mike looked down. “Shade? A few leaves?”

“Yes,” Chip continued patiently still with his plastered on smile in tact, though slightly strained. “Do you happen to know what kind of leaves those are?”

“No—” suddenly it clicked in Mike’s head. “That was poison ivy wasn’t it.”

Chip gave a slow nod. “Why don’t you pour some water on your leg to rinse off, and I’ll write you up an injury report.

At that moment there was the click of a disposable camera, and Trail Group 13 turned to see Raymond taking a picture. He shrugged. “I want to document the experience.”

“Less than an hour in,” Rudy said thoughtfully, “that has to be a record.”

Mike gave him a resentful look. “I don’t suppose you could have warned me.”

Rudy shrugged. “By the time I could have said something it would have been too late anyway, and I didn’t want you to panic.”

Mike walked down to the water’s edge and started splashing water up onto his legs. Rudy walked up and pulled a bandanna out of one of the side pockets in his backpack and wet it. He then began rubbing the back of Mike’s legs.

“Miller,” Chip shouted, “don’t touch Webster! You’ll get a rash!”

“I don’t get rashes,” Rudy said and calmly continued washing Mike’s legs.

Mike stood there, feeling the cool Canadian September breeze on his face, the icy water dripping down his calf and Rudy’s warm hands on his thighs, and thought, these are going to be a long four days.

By the time Trail Group 13 reached their campsite for the night, it was nearly sunset, and Mike’s legs had become pink and itchy. Though, according to Chip, Mike’s rashes weren’t as severe as poison ivy rashes usually were, meaning that Rudy had in fact helped.

They then began to set up tents, which entailed Mike setting up their tent while Rudy watched.

Chip appeared with his usual plastered on smile. “Miller, why don’t you help Webster set up your tent?”

“I don’t set up tents,” Rudy replied.

“That’s what you said earlier about kayaking, and you turned out to be great at that. Besides, lots of people here have never set up a tent before, so you don’t have to worry about embarrassing yourself. I can show how if you need.”

“He knows how,” said Mike.

“But he said he didn’t kno—” began Chip, but Rudy cut in.

“No, I said I didn’t.”

For the first time since Mike and Rudy met him, Chip’s smile faltered.

“Everybody has to help set up their tent, Miller.”

“Pierre is setting up your tent for you,” Rudy pointed out.

Chip looked genuinely annoyed by this point. “Well that’s because I’m giving everyone advice and moral support.”

“And I’m giving Mike advice and moral support.”

Seeing that he was fighting a losing battle, Chip gave up and walked away.

The rest of the tent was set up by Mike with advice and moral support from Rudy.

Before it was time to make dinner, the campers were allowed some fun on the beach they were camping next to. Nobody had much fun though because it was almost dark to play cards, too windy to play frisby and they weren’t allowed to go in the water.

Rudy and Mike stood by the water by themselves as Chip tried to convince the other boys that capture the flag would be just as fun, if not better, under these conditions, and all they needed was for someone to volunteer a pair of socks.

Raymond also stood off to the side, taking pictures of the ocean and the coast.

Rudy gazed at the distant shore of the Canadian mainland. “With some time to train, we could swim back.”

“Maybe you could, but I barely managed to kayak here,” Mike said bitterly. He was not a happy camper. “Besides, my shoulder already hurt from carrying my pack.”

“Yes, I did have to do all the paddling work, didn’t I?” Rudy said thoughtfully. “Don’t worry about your shoulders, though. You’ll get stronger, and your pack will get lighter as you eat your food gets eaten and the Kool-Aid gets drunk.”

They stood in silence for a few more moments, before Mike’s teeth started chattering. Mike had only brought a light jacket because it wasn’t supposed to be very cold, and he figured he wouldn’t need one while hiking, which was what he thought he would be doing most of the time. Also it took up a lot of room in his pack.

“Cold?” Rudy asked.

Mike tried to think of a clever response but fell short and just nodded. Rudy unzipped his coat, wrapped the open ends around Mike and placed his head on Mike’s shoulder. Immediately all thoughts about anything other than how warm Rudy was flew out of Mike’s head.

“Bring a warmer jacket next time,” Rudy whispered. Mike just nodded. They stayed like that until Chip called them back to the campsite for dinner.

Dinner was something which Chip claimed was spaghetti and Rudy claimed was hair cleaned from a drain covered in tomato sauce. It had been cooked using the dry spaghetti Elliott had been carrying and the sauce that Josiah had been carrying, which lightened both their loads for the next day. Nobody drank any of the Kool-Aid, much to Mike’s disappointment.

“Remember, boys,” Chip told them as dinner was finishing and everyone was cleaning their dishes and heading off to bed, “if you have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, you have to bring your tent-mate with you.”

“You hear that?” Mike said to Rudy as they washed their bowls and utensils. “If I have to pee in the middle of the night, you have to come with me and protect me from the beavers.”

Rudy raised an eyebrow. “All the nature clone said was that I had to go with you; if a beaver attacks, I’m running.”

“The what?” Mike asked as they headed towards their tent, already familiar with Rudy’s habit of calling their teachers ‘clones.’

“The nature clone,” Rudy explained, unzipping the front of the tent and taking his shoes off. “When we were being divided up earlier, I noticed that all the ‘naturalists’ looked and acted the same. I suspect if we were to explore on this island long enough we’d find a beaver and nature clone making factory.”

Mike snorted as he turned to face the opposite tent wall from Rudy and begin changing into his pajamas, which were basically just his evening clothes with long underwear underneath.

As they were climbing into their sleeping bags, a knit hat hit Mike’s head.

“What’s this?”

“A hat. You’ll want to wear it; it’s gonna get cold.”

Mike paused.

“I promise I don’t have lice,” Rudy added.

“That’s not what I was worried about. Won’t you get cold?”

“I don’t get cold.”

Mike sighed, his lips tugging up into a faint smile, and pulled on the hat. Like the jacket earlier, it smelled like newly cut grass and lemons fresh off the tree; it smelled like Rudy. As Mike drifted off to sleep to the sound of his tent-mate’s gentle breathing, he thought about how it was days like these that made it easy to remember why he was so in love with Rudy.

## Day 2

When Trail Group 13 gathered for breakfast the next morning, they discovered that they were two members short.

“I thought you said you shook all the tents,” Mr. Pierre said.

“I did!” Chip insisted turning to count the tents. Then count them again. There was one less tent in the campsite than when they had gone to sleep that morning.

Where Harold and Simon’s tent had once stood, there was now a pile of canvas and poles with two pairs of feet sticking out the bottom.

“Well it’s certainly a good thing there was someone giving them advice and moral support while they were setting up their tent,” Rudy said in a deadpan.

“Shut up Miller!” Chip shouted.

Raymond took a picture.

Once they had woken the two remaining trail group members, they ate instant oatmeal huddled together at the sole picnic table at the campsite. It was even colder than the night before. Luckily now Mike had Rudy’s hat, and it did help.

His shoulders so sore that they it had hurt to get out of his sleeping bag, Mike decided to try drinking some of the Kool-Aid to lighten his pack. It was disgusting. Mike offered it to all the others in Trail Group 13, but they all refused, even Chip who somehow still had his plastered on grin despite the early hour.

“It’s a nature clone thing,” Rudy had assured Mike as Chip had shaken their tent to wake them up.

Mr. Pierre checked on Mike’s leg as breakfast was being cleaned up.

“Looks like it’s healing pretty fast; it was only a mild rash. You should be pretty much fine by the end of the day. You should be glad Miller is immune.”

“Yep,” replied Mike, remembering the way Rudy’s fingers had felt on his legs as he’d had the poison ivy oil washed off.

Mike once again dealt with the tent all by himself.

“I don’t take down tents,” Rudy had said.

“Miller,” Chip had said with exasperation; but he knew he wouldn’t win this fight.

Once Trail Group 13 was all packed up, they stood in a circle near the trailhead.

“Great job clearing the campsite,” Chip said with enthusiasm and the trademark nature clone smile. “I can’t see anything or anyone left behind. Can’t tell you how many campers I’ve lost that way.” Chip paused as though waiting for a laugh.

Instead, Rudy said, “Is that how you got certified?”

“No, Miller,” Chip replied, visibly losing patience, “being an Algonkian Island Nature Service naturalist is actually a very serious job that requires a lot of very serious training.”

Chip glared at Rudy for a moment as Rudy gazed right back into his eyes with no visible emotion. Chip’s smile flickered to a frown for a moment as he realized he wasn’t going to be able to win this one either.

“Alright kiddos, I’m gonna teach you one of the secrets of backpacking. It’s pretty cold right now, so we don’t wanna be stripping to shorts and t-shirts, but we’re gonna get warm fast hiking, so we’re gonna warm up right now, take off our layers, then start hiking. Now we’re gonna go around and everyone is gonna suggest a short warm up. Anyone wanna go first?” Chip looked around the group expectantly.

Nobody spoke.

“Anybody? Anybody?” Mr. Pierre asked. “Bueller? Bueller?” This time a few people laughed. Chip’s smile strained.

“You know what I think would encourage us?” Rudy asked, and Chip looked like he was torn between relief that one of the campers was finally contributing to the activity and annoyance that it was Rudy. “I think it would add greatly to the moral of the group and encourage us campers if the adults would do a warm up and take off their layers first.”

Rudy elbowed Mike in the ribs, and Mike added, “Yes, I think that would be a great idea.”

Chip opened his mouth to argue, but Mr. Pierre cut in, “I think that would be a good idea, Rudy. C’mon Chip, let’s give them some encouragement!”

Chip closed his mouth for a second then opened it again in his signature smile. “Alright,” he said, taking off his backpack, “we’ll do 5 push-ups, then you kiddos can join us for the rest of the exercises.”

Rudy raised an eyebrow, “Only five?”

All the other boys were in agreement with him this time.

“Yeah, we have to do at least 10 in P.E.”

“And you’re adults!”

“Besides,” Rudy added, “you’re a AIWS ranger, I’m sure this will be easy for you.”

“Fine!” Chip snapped, backing down, “we’ll do 15, but I think Rudy should join us because he suggested it.”

Rudy raised the other eyebrow. “I don’t do push ups.”

“C’mon, Chip,” Mr. Pierre said, “let’s leave the kids out of this round.”

Chip’s usual smile was fully gone by now, and his mouth was pressed into a thin line. “Fine,” he said tightly and got down on the ground.

It soon became very clear why Chip had first suggested only 5 push-ups. He was breathing hard by number 3, red in the face by number 6 and shaking head to toe by number 9, but determined not to let Rudy win, Chip pushed on. Mr. Pierre looked fine, like he might even be enjoying himself.

The campers were all counting out loud. When they got to 11, Rudy asked, “Are you sure this isn’t too much for you, Chip? We can stop whenever you need to.”

“No, no!” Chip panted, nearly purple in the face from effort as he attempted a 12th pushup, “I’m fine. In fact I’m enjoying myself. You see,” he grunted with effort as he began his 13th rise, “this is the sort of thing we do for fun all the time.”

Chip did make it to 15. Sort of. On the 15th, he only went down, but the boys were willing to count it.

Chip rose to his feet, purple in the face, breathing heavy and his face shimmering with sweat that had managed to soak through both his layers of clothing. “Alrighty then,” he said, beginning to strip off his outer laying of clothing that was sticking to him with sweat his smile long gone, “your turn. You do 10 push-ups.” He looked directly at Rudy as he said that part.

Rudy looked Chip back in the eye with a cool, neutral expression on his face. “I already told you, I don’t do push ups.”

“I have had it up to here,” Chip said, raising his voice to where it bordered on a shout and still purple in the face from his own push ups, “with you ‘not doing’ kayaking or getting rashes or playing capture the flag or setting up tents or doing dishes or taking down tents! We are all on this trip, and we are all doing push ups! I did the push ups! So you DARN well WILL DO PUSH UPS!”

Rudy got on the ground with the rest of the campers without even taking off his pack, and started doing push ups. The other campers began to get tired around their fifth or sixth, but even with his 30 pound pack on his shoulders, Rudy showed no signs of fatigue. Once all the other boys reached 10, got up and started taking off their outer layers, Rudy plowed on showing no signs of stopping. Once he reached 15, he paused, and looked up right at Chip as he did a 16th push up.

Mike had never seen something so petty yet so hot in all his life.

Then Rudy stood up and said, “You know, Chip, I think it would do you a lot of good to work on your anger management.”

Mike laughed. Chip looked like he was going to have an aneurysm.

At a certain point, about 2 hours or so into that day’s hike, Mike realized that drinking all that Kool-Aid might have been a bad idea.

“Rudy,” he whispered, “I have to pee.”

Rudy raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“I don’t want to nature pee!”

“Then hold it.”

Mike sighed. “How much longer?”

“I don’t know,” Rudy said. “Ask the nature clone.”

“Um, Chip?” Mike asked, raising his voice.

“Yes, Webster?”

“How much longer to the next camp site?”

“It depends on how fast you walk, but at the pace we’re going, probably 3 more hours of so. Plus however long we stop for lunch.”

Mike groaned.

“Why do you ask?” Mr. Pierre inquired.

“No reason.”

By the time they stopped for lunch, Wilbur also needed to go.

“Will there be a bathroom at the next campsite?” he asked.

“Well, there will probably be a pit toilet, but if you need to go, you should go now,” Chip said.

“I’m not pooping in the woods,” Wilber said with conviction.

“Look,” Mike said, giving in because his bladder was beginning to ache, “I need a bathroom as well, let’s just go in the woods.”

“Mike’s right!” Chip said cheerfully, “you’d need a beaver buddy to go off trail anyway, so you might as well go together.”

“That way you can protect each other from the very real danger of getting impregnated by a mad beaver,” Rudy added.

“Chip! Miller’s bullying Wilbur,” Harold yelled at the same time as Chip lost his cool and howled, “MILLER!”

Chip took a few deep breaths. “Miller, please stop spreading misinformation. The beavers most likely won’t attack people.”

“Most likely!” Simon gasped with horror.

“If anyone gets eaten, I hope it’s Miller,” said Harold.

“Greene, I can handle Miller,” Chip said, despite the fact that the evidence suggested he could not, “and no one is getting eaten.” Finally Chip turned back to Mike and Wilbur. “I assure you, wilderpeeing and wilderpooping are completely safe, and it’s a long way to our next campsite. So why don’t you hop behind a bush real quick.”

“I can wait,” said both Mike and Wilbur in almost perfect unison, still rattled by the talk of horny, angry beavers.

For the most of Trail Group 13, the next few hours passed in a blur of stunning views of the Canadian coast and fresh air in their lungs. For Mike and Wilbur, they were excruciatingly painful, but the fear of beavers and going to the bathroom in a bush kept them both quiet. 

Finally, Chip turned to the group and said, “Our campsite should be just beyond that hill!”

“The one with bathrooms?” Wilbur asked, and he and Mike didn’t even wait for Chip’s answer before sprinting toward the hill in the distance. Mike didn’t think he’d ever run so fast or so hard before in his life, not even in P.E., but being the first one in the camp bathrooms was worth it.

Later, while Mike was setting up their tent, and Rudy was providing advice and moral support, Mike said, “I’m never drinking Kool-Aid again.”

“That means you’re going to be stuck carrying it for the rest of the trip,” Rudy pointed out.

“Unless someone else drinks it,” Mike said hopefully.

Rudy raised an eyebrow. Mike sighed. He knew he was going to be carrying that Kool-Aid for the rest of the trip.

Because they had set up at their second camp earlier, they had daylight to relax before dinner. Most of the boys were playing a card game in Simon and Elmer’s tent, but Rudy didn’t play card games, so he was sitting at a picnic table with Mike who was attempting to use this time to practice the ukulele he had brought with him.

“How’re your legs?” Rudy asked.

“Um,” Mike said, realizing that with all the pain he had been in earlier, he hadn’t even thought about his legs. He looked down. “They look fine.”

“Do they itch?”

“No.”

“You should be fine, then.”

They sat in silence for a few more moments before Rudy spoke again. “Apparently tomorrow’s hike is a steep uphill.”

Mike didn’t want to know how Rudy had gained that information. “Is that so?”

“It is. So you will probably want to get rid of that Kool-Aid.”

Mike short Rudy a bitter look. “I don’t suppose you’re volunteering?”

“No, I don’t drink Kool-Aid,” said Rudy, “but I think with all the whining Greene was doing earlier, it would be better to occupy his mouth with something else.” Mike didn’t mention the first thing that came to his mind when Rudy said that. “Bring me his water bottle; he left if outside his tent.”

Mike looked at the water bottle, then back at Rudy’s outstretched, expectant hand. He got up and walked over to Harold’s bag, and paused over it, but Harold was still playing cards with all the others, and Chip and Mr. Pierre were both still resting in their tents. Mike quickly picked up the water bottle and brought it over to Rudy, whose cool demeanor showed no fear of being caught.

“Don’t you think he’ll notice the taste?” Mike whispered.

“We’ll dilute it,” Rudy said, screwing open the cap and pouring half of the contents in the dirt under the picnic table. “That still takes a liter of Kool-Aid out of your pack.” Rudy then filled the rest of the bottle to the brim with Kool-Aid. He rescrewed on the lid and handed it back to Mike, who took another look at the card tent, before hurrying over and returning the water bottle to its original position.

Mike half expected Harold to know that something was up the minute he saw his water bottle. But he just picked it up and brought it to dinner with him like usual. Mike breathed a sigh of relief, though he knew the real test would come once Harold drank some.

“Tonight,” Chip announced, “we’re having mac-and-cheese chili!”

There were some groans from the crowd.

“Hey,” Mr. Pierre said, “don’t knock it till you try it!”

“Then,” Rudy asked, “can we say it tastes like horny beaver vomit?”

Mike snorted.

“MILLER!” Chip howled, “you are very close to not getting seconds!”

“What a generous man you are,” Rudy said before Chip could catch his own mistake.

Chip glared at Rudy and pointed an accusing ladle. “Dish duty. You are doing all the dishes. All of them!”

Rudy just looked back at Chip calmly.

Diner was fairly uneventful after that. In Mike’s opinion, the mac-and-cheese chili wasn’t actually that bad. In fact, it was much better than it had originally sounded or looked. Harold found out that he now had poison oak poisoning on his forehead, and nobody knew how, but that was the most interesting thing that had happened.

Across the now clearing table, Harold was taking the first swig from his water bottle. He made a face and turned to Simon. Mike snuck a glance at Rudy, but he was busy bent over the dish washing station and appeared not to be paying attention.

“That chili makes water taste weird.” Mike breathed a deep sigh of relief.

“You’ll be lucky if that chili doesn’t make everything taste weird for a week.”

“MILLER!”

That night, as Mike and Rudy settled into their sleeping bags, something was still bothering Mike.

“How on Earth do you think Greene got poison ivy on his forehead?”

“I don’t know,” Rudy responded across the dark tent, “but he probably should have brought a bandana. I had to lend him mine.”

“Rudy,” Mike said, as the realization hit him like a flying beaver, “you didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” Rudy asked, rolling over so that they were nearly nose to nose, and in the faint light Mike could see him raise and eyebrow.

They were so close that Mike could feel Rudy’s breath on his face and see when Rudy’s eyes closed despite the only light coming from stars thousands of miles away. It wasn’t a comfortable position, but Mike wanted to fall asleep tucked up against Rudy just like that. And he did.

## Day 3

The next morning at breakfast, Harold and Simon were in a bad mood. They sat at opposite ends of the table and cast glares at each other while chewing loudly. Finally, Simon broke the silence.

“Chip, is it really necessary for someone to bring a beaver buddy with them every time they go to the bathroom? Even if they go five times in one night?”

“OH,” Harold shot back angrily, “for god’s sake! You know that wasn’t my fault!”

“And it’s not my fault either,” Simon retorted, “that you can’t hold your bladder longer than two hours!”

Chip broke in at this point, “Now, now, Jackson, we can’t shame those with small bladders. It’s genetic and very embarrassing.”

“I DON’T HAVE A SMALL BLADDER!” Harold shouted very loudly and very red in the face. “I’m normally totally fine! It’s just last night, that I kept waking up needing to go to the bathroom.”

There was a brief silence.

“Are you feeling alright, Greene?” Mr. Pierre asked.

“I’m feeling fine. Well except for the poison ivy, no thanks to Miller.”

“Greene,” Mr. Pierre said exasperated, “you can’t just blame all your problems on Miller and Webster.”

“Oh, really, then how do you explain that Miller’s boyfriend was the only one to touch poison ivy, yet I’m the one with the rash?”

“I’m not his boyfriend,” Mike said, turning pink, but nobody cared.

“Webster had a rash yesterday,” Chip pointed out. “Besides, how on Earth would Miller get poison ivy from Webster’s legs to your forehead?”

“And, more importantly,” Mr. Pierre cut in, bringing the conversation back to its initial focus, “are you sure there was nothing else wrong last night?”

“No, the only things I can think of was that the mac-and-cheese chili tasted awful and my water tasted kind of funny, then I was up all night needing to pee constantly,” Harold said. Then suddenly his eyes widened and he gaped. “The water! MILLER!”

Mr. Pierre sighed. “It’s very unlikely that Miller tried to poison you.”

Rudy nodded, “Not all of us drug others’ drinks when they aren’t looking, Greene.”

“Miller, that’s enough,” said Chip, and as he said it, he squinted at Rudy suspiciously, as if he was considering for the first time that Rudy might actually be capable of poisoning someone.

“Why don’t we just settle this, by seeing what’s in the water bottle?” Raymond suggested.

“Solid plan,” Chip agred, “now run along and grab the it Greene.”

Harold winced. “Um, well… I may have… erm... finished it,” he said slowly.

The entire table stared at him.

“You drank all the contents of a bottle you believed was poisoned?” Sam asked.

“Well, I didn't think it was poisoned at the time!” Harold retorted defensively. Everybody groaned.

In the end, it was officially declared that no conclusion could be drawn, though secretly everybody but Harold, Mike and Rudy believed that Harold just had a small bladder. Harold still believed that Rudy had poisoned him, and Mike and Rudy knew that that wasn’t far from the truth.

Chip chose to skip their morning warm ups that morning.

That day’s hike was in fact almost all steep uphill. Mike couldn’t imagine how on Earth Rudy had been able to find that out, but he just accepted it as one of the many things about Rudy that he did not understand.

Chip somehow determined that exactly what the boys needed to raise their spirits was to sing on the trail.

“This is a repeat after me song!” he yelled.

No one yelled or sang back.

“A say as I say song,” he prompted.

No one said as he said.

“All right then,” Chip said, his usual smile still present, “who knows ‘Waltzing Matilda’?”

Everybody remained silent, understanding that speaking up meant being asked to sing. Chip was disconcerted but undeterred.

“All right, then. I’ll start, and you guys can join in once you get the refrain. Alright?”

Nobody made eye contact with Chip as they continued to hike silently. Chip took this as agreement and began to sing.

“Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong / Under the shade of a coolibah tree, / He sang as he watched and waited 'till his billy boiled…”

By the time Chip had finished the song, no one had joined even one chorus. Chip resolved to choose an easier song, so he sang “Clementine” Still no one joined him. After one last song, Chip started to lose patience, and his voice.

Eventually, about an hour later, his voice got too raspy and gave up to sulk in silence. They finished the hike that way.

Once they got to the campsite and had set up, the members of Trail Group 13 were given free time. Chip had wanted to run games, but he had completely lost his voice by that point and was incapable of making anyone listen to him. Literally.

Rudy and Mike sat near the edge of a rocky outcropping, looking over the lower levels of forest they had been camping in for the past 3 days and out towards the sea and the Canadian mainland from which they had come.

Raymond sat nearby taking pictures.

Mike strummed a few chords on his ukulele.

“Do you plan on playing that at campfire?” Rudy asked.

Mike nodded. “What are you doing?”

“It’s a surprise,” Rudy said, and Mike scowled. But then Rudy leaned forward, and moved his right arm around Mike’s shoulders, and all previous thoughts flew out of Mike’s head. They stayed like that for the rest of the afternoon.

Nobody knew what exactly what it was they were eating for dinner because Chip couldn’t speak to tell them what it was. Mike decided it was slightly worse than the mac-and-cheese chili, but slightly better than the Kool-Aid.

Finally, campfire came.

Chip went up first and told stories of his earlier trips as a Algonkian Island Wilderness Service naturalist. Most of the stories entailed a week of carefree frolicking in the outdoors with people Chip liked a great deal more than Miller.

Harold Greene bragged about his numerous accomplishments in boy scouts, most of which boiled down to beating up various people behind the counselor's cabin. “And he had a black eye for a week!” Harold said with a smirk. Eventually, Mr. Pierre made him sit down.

Raymond passed around a piece of paper where everyone could request to get copies of the photos he had taken. “Just put a mailing address and which pictures you want,” he said. Mike noticed Rudy write down, “Greene’s tent,” then copy Harold’s address onto one of his own sheets of paper. Mike didn’t even want to know what that would lead to.

Wilbur and Sam performed a short rap they had written together about camping. It was awful.

“If I wanted to be mentally scarred,” Rudy commented, “I would have asked to tent with them.”

Chip looked like he wanted to shout “Miller!”

On Rudy’s turn, he got up and announced, “I am going to be reciting a poem.”

There were some murmurs of confusion and a whisper of “that’s gay,” that almost certainly came from Harold, but Rudy continued.

“‘Second Fig’ by Edna St. Vincent Millay: ‘Safe upon the solid rocks the ugly houses stand, / come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!’”

There was a moment of silence before Rudy returned to his seat.

“I don’t get it,” Harold said.

“I didn’t expect you to,” Rudy replied.

Mr. Pierre chuckled, but bit his lip when Chip glared at him.

Finally, it was Mike’s turn. He walked up in front of Trail Group 13 with his ukulele and cleared his throat.

“Um, hi,” he began, and internally winced, “I am going to be playing and singing a song. I don’t know who it’s by or what it’s called, but we sang it at summer camp, and I think it’s relevant here.”

There was a moment of silence.

Mike took a deep breath and began to sing.

> “Please won’t you catch a shooting star for me  
And take it with you on your way.  
Though it seems like we just met,  
You’re the one I won’t forget.  
Hope some kind wind blows you back my way.
> 
> “And I was thinking maybe somewhere later down the road,  
After all our stories have been told,  
I'll sit and think of you,  
The dear friend I once knew.  
Shot through my life like a shooting star.
> 
> “Sometimes I know that a part of you will show,  
Deep in my eyes or in my smile.  
There will always be a part of you deep inside my heart  
And I'll always know just when to let it go.
> 
> “And I was thinking maybe somewhere later down the road,  
After all our stories have been told,  
I'll sit and think of you,  
The dear friend I once knew.  
Shot through my life like a shooting star.
> 
> “You are so dear; you're my light and shining star.  
you brighten up my each and every day.  
You are so near, but soon you'll be so far.  
So why not hold my hand today.
> 
> “And I was thinking maybe somewhere later down the road,  
After all our stories have been told,  
I'll sit and think of you,  
The dear friend I once knew.  
Shot through my life like a shooting star.”

Mike stood there in silence for a few beats after finishing. Then Rudy started clapping, and Mr. Pierre joined in and so did the rest of Trail Group 13. Aside from Harold mumbling something with the word “gay” in it, there seemed to be an overwhelmingly positive response, and Mike let out the breath he’d been holding.

Last up for the campfire was Mr. Pierre, who stood in front of them as the last embers of the fire were beginning to die and siad, “For my portion, I would like you to participate in an activity.”

Rudy opened his mouth, but before he could say, “I don’t do activities,” Mr. Pierre added, “All of you.”

“I want you to lie down where you are,” he continued, “and look up at the stars.”

Trail Group 13 did just that.

“Now I want you to be silent for just one minute.”

And so they did.

Overhead, there were more stars than most of them had ever seen before. On Algonkian Island, there was no light pollution, and the entire sky was filled horizon-to-horizon with little, glimmering flecks of light. Just watching silently, the boys could see the stars moving across the sky with the turn of the Earth, and see satellites and shooting stars pass through their field of vision.

At some point, Rudy reached over and took Mike’s hand in his, but the entire experience was so overwhelming, that Mike almost didn’t notice. Almost.

“Now,” Mr. Pierre said, once the minute was up, “I want you to ask any question that pops into your head. No answers from anybody, just questions.”

“What if we don’t have questions?” Rudy asked. And there was no answer.

“I wonder how many stars there are,” Wilbur said, and there was no answer.

“I wonder if Miller did try to poison me,” Harold said, and there was no answer.

“I wonder if soulmates exist,” Raymond said, and there was no answer.

“I wonder if that matters,” Rudy said, and there was no answer.

“I wonder what he meant by that,” Mike said by accident, not meaning to share it aloud, but getting lost in the nature of the exercise.

“I just wonder,” Rudy replied, “if two people finding each other and liking each other a lot is enough.”

“That’s an answer, Miller,” Mr. Pierre said, and that conversation ended.

“I wonder what we’ll all be doing at this time next year after we graduate,” Elmer said, and there was no answer.

“I wonder what it will be like to meet all new people for the first time since kindergarten,” Simon said, and there was no answer.

“I wonder if I’ll still know my friends in a few years,” Mark said, and there was no answer.

After a lot more unanswered questions, the boys wandered back to their tents as Mr. Pierre and Chip made sure the fire was fully burnt out.

“Rudy,” Mike asked, climbing into his sleeping bag, “do you think we’ll still know each other in a few years.”

“No answers, Mike,” Rudy replied.

Mike sighed. “I’m serious, Rudy.”

There was a pause.

“I think, if two people like each other’s company and want to still know each other, they will.”

Mike turned to look at Rudy, and asked the question that had been nagging him since that exchange earlier. “Was that about me?”

There was no answer. “Do you want it to be?”

“Yes.”

Rudy scooched forward till they were almost nose to nose. “That sounds like an answer, Webster.”

Mike smiled, sensing a pattern. “May I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

So Mike did. And both their lips were chapped from camping. And they were cold, but everywhere they touched felt warm. And they were wearing layers of clothing, and Mike was wearing Rudy’s hat. And it was hard to move in their sleeping bags, but it was still perfect.

When they pulled apart, Rudy was smiling faintly. It was the first time Mike had seen Rudy smiling in years.

“That sounds like an answer, Miller,” Mike whispered, and Rudy smiled for real.

Mike still didn’t know what lay ahead. He still didn’t know how many stars there were or where they would be next year or even what they would be doing after they got home the next day. But at that moment, kissing Rudy, he was okay with some unanswered questions, because he couldn’t think of anything else he wanted.

(Except for maybe a bed and an actual bathroom and a shower.)

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if any part of this seems really American. I've never been to Canada, but I'm trying my best.  
(Also, have fun catching the other Gordon Korman references I snuck in there!)


End file.
